


Atlas's Emotional Burden

by erroreros



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Exhaustion, Good Sibling Luther Hargreeves, Luther Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Luther Hargreeves-centric, Mentioned Klaus Hargreeves, Mentioned Number Five | The Boy, Mostly Luther based, No Incest, Other, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Protective Luther Hargreeves, Sad Luther Hargreeves, Some Diego at the end!, Sympathetic Luther Hargeeves, This takes place when they're all still kids, Whump, he's a kid who doesn't know how to cope with abuse cut him some slack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:06:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26059201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erroreros/pseuds/erroreros
Summary: As soon as he woke up that day, Luther knew what was coming for him. His training was set for today, and as much as he didn’t want to, he dreaded it. Of course, he knew his siblings hated the training they went through, it is exhausting, brutal, and over-extensive. At least, that’s what they claimed it was. Luther knew that it was for the best, especially since Dad said so. He wasn’t smart book-wise (he knew as such), but he did know Dad was. And if Dad thought it was smart, he thought it was smart. Was there ever any reason to doubt him?Luther's training is today, and once again, he dreads it. But he goes, even if he'll regret it.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves & Luther Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Luther Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves & Luther Hargreeves, Reginald Hargreeves & The Hargreeves
Comments: 5
Kudos: 72





	Atlas's Emotional Burden

**Author's Note:**

> Woo!! second fic!!  
> This takes place when they're all teenagers! So Diego lacks his stutter most of the time, and Luther is going through it (tm).  
> God, these kids need therapy.  
> Also, there is a subtle switch of POV near the end of Luther to Diego! Heads uP for that one!

He heard the click of the watch ring out in the semi-empty junkyard.

As soon as he woke up that day, Luther knew what was coming for him. His training was set for today, and as much as he didn’t want to, he dreaded it. Of course, he knew his siblings hated the training they went through, it is exhausting, brutal, and over-extensive. At least, that’s what they claimed it was. Luther knew that it was for the best, especially since Dad said so. He wasn’t smart book-wise (he knew as such), but he did know Dad was. And if Dad thought it was smart, he thought it was smart. Was there ever any reason to doubt him? Just because they were too weak to do it didn’t mean it was bad. It just meant they were becoming better with their powers! That is why it’s called training, after all.

But Luther still felt the insects crawling around his stomach. The disgusting feeling of his body weighed down by his emotions. Sitting up from his bed, he went into the bathroom near his room, knowing his siblings hadn’t woken up yet. It was too early for them to wake up-- he knew his training sessions were longer because they were more time-extensive. They were more heavy, brutal on his body. Before he even would go to them, Luther could feel the pressure in his body, his breath hitching, the overwhelming urge to lurch into the ground-- he hated it. He hated feeling that way. After all, he knew they were good for him, the training is so that he can become  _ better _ , his mind would repeat back to him. But no matter how many times in his head he’d repeat it, Luther would always feel the same way. Luther brushed his teeth, his hand clenching the toothbrush as the noise echoes into his head. He shouldn’t dread those sessions, he should be grateful. They were good for him. They  _ are _ good for him. 

He felt the toothbrush snap in his grasp accidentally. There was a pause as the other half of the toothbrush not in his grasp clattered against the ground. Luther’s heart sank with upmost dread, wondering what his Dad would say if he found out about how he still, after all these years, couldn’t control his abilities. That, after all these years, he still wasn’t good enough. That he wasn’t living up to number one. Luther picked up the shards, hand trembling with a newfound dread that added on top of the other one. Dad was right, he always was-- Dad was the smart one, and he wasn’t. He just needed to be better. Maybe then Dad would be proud of him. 

Yesterday, the day before the day of the dreaded training, he complimented him. His father asked Diego why he wasn't more like Luther. It was an insult directed at his brother, something he couldn’t help but feel guilty for (despite it being Diego), but it still was a compliment. He was the shining example to his siblings and wasn’t like them. His father didn’t treat him like he did them. No, that was because he is a shining example, a perfect perfection they didn’t get. Dad was modeling him to be an amazing man, and he knew it. Some days, he’d have his doubts but -- it was compliments like those that made him know his siblings were wrong. That no, Dad wasn’t some dictator-- they were just being overdramatic. Dad wasn’t that bad, he was just a lot sometimes. No, he wasn’t a lot anytime he’s just-- he was just--

He tried to put the pieces back together of the toothbrush, attempting to put it back in the holder. The item barely held itself together, almost shattering as he put it back where it was supposed to be. Luther hoped the others wouldn’t tell Dad. There was a feeling inside that they would, that his siblings would tell him so that they could become number one. Luther stared at himself in the mirror silently, looking at his dark sullen eyes, his blonde hair, and muscly stature. His siblings would try to surpass him, he knew it. But maybe they wouldn’t, they are his siblings after all. No matter how much they didn’t listen to his orders, he loved them and care for them a lot. Diego is witty, Allison is …  _ amazing _ in almost all regards, Klaus is funny, Ben is powerful, Five is smart, and Vanya is talented (if not powerless). What was he? Well, he was number one. Luther was and is the leader, the one to lead the pack to victory. If he wasn’t that-- if he wasn’t father’s favorite-- if he wasn’t perfect to Dad, then what was he? 

Nothing. Luther knew he was nothing without Dad. Dad is witty, amazing, funny, powerful, smart, and talented. Better than he is in any way possible, and because that, he knew best. Dad knew that Luther had to be number one because he deserved to be number one. Not because they found him first, but because he deserved to be a leader. At least, that’s what he thinks to keep himself from staying up the whole night. His feet creaked against the wood as Luther put on his uniform, changing out of his pajamas to his formal wear. Luther hoped that he wasn’t being too loud-- his siblings deserved their sleep. Five especially always seemed tired after his training so he should definitely sleep extra. Well, until Dad told them to wake up. Five shouldn’t sleep until after the alarm, after all. That’d be messing up the schedule Dad had made for all of them, and they shouldn’t mess up the schedule. Dad made it, after all. 

Luther knew the location that he was supposed to go-- it was the same every time he went. His body kept moving, but his mind subconsciously attempted to plead with him to not go. No, he shouldn’t go, he’d feel horrible, it would hurt, it always hurt so much. But he knew that he should go. Dad said so, and Dad was smarter than all of them. This was for the best, after all, it would make him stronger, it would make him better. He needed to become stronger if they were going to protect the city. He needed to become stronger if he was going to protect his siblings. 

\---

The walk was long, but he timed it right so that he’d get to the junkyard at the right time before Dad could get mad. Stepping in, the sound of his shoes skit against the dirty ground. Dad was already waiting there, of course, he was. No matter how early he was, Dad would always be there first. It wasn’t annoying to Luther, after all, it’s always how it was, and always how it would be. Reginald looked at him with a look of neutral feeling, one he wore around him continuously. That was good, Luther thought, it’s better than when he’s angry. Luther could always tell the slight emotions his father felt, even if they were barely noticeable to the others. When the man was slightly annoyed, when he was slightly disappointed-- he had spent enough time with him pick everything up. So it was good that Dad wasn’t angry, or overzealous, or disappointed. He was indifferent, and that’s how he wanted to keep it. Luther stared at the broken cars that littered across the area. His father stared back at him. Luther knew what to do. 

At a speed that was slightly faster than usual, Luther attempted to pick up each car and began to stack them on top of eachother. 

“Endurance,“ He remembered his father saying, “Endurance is your Achilles heel.”

Luther didn’t know what Achilles’ heel was, but he assumed it was a weakness. He knew that his fatal flaw was his endurance. Lifting things was one thing, he could do that with ease. But doing for long extensions of time? That was the tiring part. Luther always felt his muscles stagger and halt if it was for more than 10 minutes at a time. Not that bad, he could feel Diego commenting. Not good enough, he could feel himself internally retort.

“Training today and every training forward will now be about your endurance. These cars weigh less without their usual inside passengers, but stacked upon eachother, they will equal a weight that you can and will carry. From there, you will be holding them for up to twelve hours. I will be leaving at small increments, and during that time, you will be holding up those cars. Do you understand me?” Reginald said, introducing simply and matter-of-factly, as he always would.

Luther simply would nod in response, and do as told. And so, today was like any other. He would stack cars on top of eachother, roughly 6, and then hold them for twelve hours. Since he woke up at 2 AM for this, he’d be back home just in time for afternoon lessons. That would mean skipping out on morning lessons, but Luther would consider it worth it for the training. As he was stacking, however, Reginald paused, looking over at Luther with a squint.

“Add four more,” his father said with a sharp glance at his adopted son.

No pause lingered in the air as Luther placed four more on top of the neatly put-together pile of cars he’d created. The extra weight made his chest tighten, his breath hitch a bit, but was fine. Six cars as it is was hard to hold and endure on its own, but ten should be fine. He had been carrying six cars for a while now, so ten should be fine. If Dad wanted him to do it, then there had to be a reason, so it would be fine. At least, Luther hoped it would be fine. Stopping for only a moment, Luther soon got into position, placing his hands on the side of the pile to get ready to pick it all up.

He heard the click of the watch ring out in the semi-empty junkyard.

Quickly, Luther picks up the pile, a moment of weightlessness reaching his body. Easy to pick up, it was always easiest in it’s first few moments. Getting his hands into a good position, Luther attempts to impress his father (as per usual) with little results (as per usual). The two stand there, with Luther holding up the junk, and Reginald staring at his posture and how well he did it. A few hours passed, and Luther could feel his arms tire out already. It was heavy, and the extra weight did nothing to stop his arms from tiring. Reginald had done as he usually did, which is leave to tend to the other siblings and additional work, simply leaving Luther to his duties. Silently, the boy thought to himself, trying to keep his mind off of the heavy lifting he was doing. Sometimes, if he delved deep into his own thoughts, he could distract himself from the pain beginning to radiate into his arms. But it was a bit harder now, with his arms feeling limp as the rest of his body began to give out. It would be fine, Luther reminded himself. If Dad told him to do it, there had to be a reason. And with that reason, came a justification. So, even with Reginald not there, he kept his arms up, holding the cards strongly.

By the time the six-hour mark hit, Luther was feeling not only weak but lonely. That usually occurred whenever he was on training sessions like these-- alone in the middle of a junkyard in a place only his father remembered and knew about. He always wondered if his siblings missed him while he was out at training. Luther guessed they didn’t, (maybe Allison did) mostly because most of them never made any comments about missing his presence. They were only comments like ‘oh the fun police is back’ or ‘what kind of chore did Dad make you do this time,’ both of which usually came from Klaus or Diego. But Allison always remembered he left. It was nice to remember that at least one of his siblings liked him as much as he liked them back. Even if they were annoying sometimes, and even if Dad didn’t like them all as much as he did. Regardless, it was his arms that had begun aching first. He could feel them slowly giving out over time, so he had taken a knee to support himself, to lessen the energy wasted. That didn’t stop his whole body from feeling that same dread, however. The pain was coming, and he knew it. But Luther had to keep holding it all up, or Dad would be mad at him. He had to prove that he wasn’t like the others, that Luther is number one, and deserves to be a leader. So, even with the newfound aching, he kept his arms up, holding the cars weakly.

By the twelve-hour mark, Luther was in excruciating pain. His body had doubled over, and his arms were bent-- unlike his straight posture from beforehand. Both knees were on the ground now, and his breath was heavy. His body pleaded for release from the pressure, his whole body shaking under the weight for so long. Luther could feel himself breaking apart, finding himself sometimes screaming into the thin air involuntarily. His breathing was erratic, and his heart pumped as if he were having some kind of heart attack. The boy shut his eyes tightly as if such an action would help from blocking out the pain. It obviously didn’t. His father appeared back at the scene, staring back at Luther with a new disdain. If Luther wasn’t so focused on keeping himself from shattering into millions of pieces, he would've noticed the immediate annoyance within his teacher's look. Someone had annoyed his father, and if he couldn’t tell by the look, he could tell by the tone.

“Number one. Why are you on the ground?” He asked with deep seething venom and disappointment, both of which made the feeling of utmost anxiety seep into Luther’s chest.

“It’s -- it’s so … h-heavy --” He managed to croak out under the pressure, huffing a few times inbetween words to make room for air.

“Get up this  _ instant _ ,” his father demanded back.

“I-I can’t! It’s too- hrgh, it’s too heavy I can’t stand up, I can’t--”

“Did you not  _ hear me _ , Number One? Get up. This INSTANT.” 

The newfound volume made Luther shudder a tad. Oh, he was definitely angry. Shaking still, struggling to keep the world up, Luther desperately attempted to stand. As he got one leg up, bending it, he almost buckled-- the cars almost falling on top of him. Controlling his breath, he could feel his father slowly grow impatient, nervousness blooming within Luther’s stomach as the realization doomed upon him. Getting up another leg, he could feel his eyes prick with pain and tears, threatening to fall.

“Are you  _ crying _ , Number One?” Reginald asked with a threatening tone.

Luther shook his head, sniffling as his arms shook violently, his grip barely being able to hold after all this time. He couldn’t cry, no, he was not meant to cry. A leader couldn’t show weakness in front of others. Dad would be angry if he cried now, and so, he kept in his tears, as well as his pain. Eventually, soon, he raised his arms, holding the weight up as he had done before. But that was when his body gave his, his arms soon buckling as everything gean to crash down upon him. Letting out a yelp, Luther’s whole body fell to the ground, the cars beginning to fall off the pile. In a fit of panic, Luther threw the pile aside, it going somewhat of a far distance. The boy let out a shaky breath, collapsing to the floor, exhaustion seeping into his bones like a parasitic virus. His eyes fluttered open to look at his father, to see if he was proud at him, or worried, or anything of the sort. Reginald wasn’t. Looking at him, he seemed disappointed and bored with Luther’s failure. Exhaling deeply, almost sighing, he could hear Reginald say out loud the last words he’d hear until much later.

“Class is in 30 minutes. Be ready.”

\---

Class was a bit odd in the Hargreeves household. The siblings would be given tasks that they would need to finish by the time the allotted time slot was over. Luther himself never particularly liked those tasks, nor was he all that good at anything besides writing, but he went because Dad said it would make him smarter. Luther would always listen attentively, but for some reason, none of it ever just clicked. It was all just hard to put together. Meanwhile, Ben and Five always spoke, read, and studied easily. Luther always wished he had that talent-- smarts, that is. Today was different, however. Ever since training, Luther had felt exhausted. His body ached for sleep, his vision very blurry. Everything felt as if it wasn’t there and all there at every instance, and at times, his mind would simply fog. Never had it gotten this bad. Never in his life had he let it ever get this bad. But he needed to get to class, and 20 minutes was not enough time to rest.

It was hard to focus, but his father mentioned something about splitting into teams of two to tackle a long-term task of some kind. A group project that would strengthen bonds or something of the sort. He wished he could pay more attention, but his brain fogged in ways he didn’t want it to. Luther was paired with Diego, someone he didn’t exactly like for his rebellious attitude and nature. But that didn’t much matter, at least, it didn’t now when he felt so sluggish. His brain registered a witty comment, one that was responded to by Five, who was paired with Klaus. He would tell them to knock it off, but he couldn’t. It was hard to move and pick up things as it was. Diego and him moved to Diego’s room, a place that Luther almost accidentally missed while walking.

“Has your brain finally given up on itself, you big monkey?” Diego said with a cheeky grin, looking over at Luther.

The comment didn’t register. Instead, he mumbled a small sorry, before trotting into Diego’s room. Diego paused, looking at the other with a slightly confused face. That was odd. Luther would at least throw something back, like a grunt or an annoying comment. But this time, he was so … quiet. He was quiet in the classroom, wasn’t he, Diego remembered. Luther didn’t even snap his pencil, something he was prone to doing due to his strength. And, when Diego passed by to do something on the board, he noticed Luther didn’t even write any notes. It was peculiar, odd, and uncomfortable. Was he okay?

“‘Ey … Luther--” Diego started, walking into his room to spot Luther.. 

He was about to continue when he finally got a good look at his own brother. Was Luther shaking? It was hard to notice, but with Diego’s keen eye, he could tell that his brother’s arms were lightly trembling. His eyes too-- there were tear streaks of some kind, he could see them. They looked faint, washed, but they were there. Diego could also see his brother’s head bobbed in place, struggling to stay awake as his dry and bruised hands twitched slightly. Worry flooded into him, as Diego quickly shut the door behind him. At the sudden noise, Luther perked up a tad, but not too much. It was more of a flinch more than anything, which made Diego’s brows furrow.

“Luther? Luther, I swear to god, what did that b-bastard do to you?” Diego asked with panic, his stutter leaking out as he put his hands on Luther’s shoulders. 

In response, all Luther did was make a slight noise, trying to focus his eyes on the other, but failing.

“Luther? Luther! Luther, are you okay?”

“‘Ts … t’s fine. I’m-I -- I’m good. I just … I’m good.”

“You fucking idiot, you don’t  _ sound _ good. What the hell happened? I swear to god if that fucking shitbag laid one hand on you--”

“No! No, nothing … nothin’ …” Luther almost dozed off slowly, but Diego shook him awake, the boy now shaken and blinking with surprise, “... Nothing like that, Diego…”

“Then what  _ did _ happen, Luther? What the hell is with the bobbing head, huh? And your fucking hands!? Christ, the hell have you been punching?! Stone bricks?”

“... training was hard today,” Luther said, the words slipping out of him before he could stop them.

“What? What did … what did he have you do?” Diego asked, keeping his hands on him, but his tone increasing with worry and decreasing anger, "what did that fucker have you do?"

“Nothin’ … nothin’ too big. Just -- carryin’ cars n’ stuff. Holdin’ it.”

Diego greeted Luther’s response with a curious and skeptical look, saying “That’s it?”

“ … mm-hm. Just uh, I carried … I carried ‘lot today. ‘Lot more. Like … uh … ten cars?”

“Ten-- what -- ?! Ten cars? What?”

“Yeah … ten cars for ‘round uhh … ‘round ten hours? Twelve? I dunno .. long, long time,” Luther said, struggling to get out the words as his mind drifted in and out of sleep.

“Luther-- holy shit, for twelve hours? How the fuck are you even able to walk? Holy shit-- christ, Luther … that piece of shit. If I could, I would fucking tear his shit up.”

Luther rested his head against the other’s shoulder. But as soon as he made contact, Luther shot his head back up to attention.

“...you need to sleep, you big oaf,” Diego said, letting go of the other.

With the lack of support, Luther almost fell to the ground but instead stood to attention. He let out a pleading groan, frowning a tad.

“But … but the assignment …”

“I’ll do the fucking assignment. Get on the bed.”

“But…”

“Luther, I swear to god if you don’t get on the bed I will throw you to the bed right now.”

To that, Luther staggered to the bed-- but fell halfway there. Instantly, the boy passed out, face-first on the floor. Diego was frankly surprised his brother didn’t break his nose doing that. Sighing, he picked up his brother with a little bit of effort (how was Luther so heavy?!), and placed him on his own bed. God damn brother… why he looked up to their Dad was beyond Diego. As sigh left him as he stared at his brother silently. One day he’d get them out of here and show Dad who’s boss. But for now, he needed to make sure his brother was alive and okay. Diego paused, crossing his arms, thinking silently to himself.

He should go tell the others.


End file.
